Music notes: R.I.P., Rusty Wier

Sad to see that Rusty Wier lost his two-year battle with cancer last Friday. There’s a memorial tonight at the Saxon Pub in Austin, Wier’s hangout for years. John Goodspeed has the details in the “Music Beat” blog.

The black-hatted Wier usually was lumped into Austin’s ’70s progressive country scene, which I seriously detested when I arrived at UT in the fall of 1972. It’s not that I didn’t like Michael Murphey and his ilk; what I hated seeing was guys from suburban high schools suddenly buying cowboy boots and acting like neo-crapkickers.

So it was gratifying to read in this obit written by Charles McClure in the Lake Travis View that Wier hated being lumped in with that crowd, too. “I describe my music as ‘Texas country, rockin, folkin’, blues gospel.’ Primarily, though, I’m an entertainer,” Wier said. “Everyone always called me ‘Rock and Roll Rusty.’ ”

Amen to that. If he had been just another cosmic cowboy singer-songwriter, I never would have gone to see him as many times as I did. As a rock ‘n’ roller, I didn’t have much patience for the faux country of the day (although I eventually came around as far as Murphey, B.W. Stevenson, Steve Fromholz and some of their cohorts were concerned; their songs won me over).

And thought they had softer moments, Wier’s shows never failed to rock. He always brought the house down with “Don’t It Make You Wanna Dance?,” the party-hearty, downhome rocker that usually closed his shows. At least, that’s my memory of a show in 1974 at Austin’s old Palmer Auditorium, where he headlined a bill that also included Fromholz and Stevenson. The stage was decorated like a fern bar; thankfully, Rusty didn’t do much damage to all the greenery.

A couple other quick snapshots:

 At a club show in Austin a year or so later (I don’t remember which club; it was small and smoky), Wier’s band started his set without him. After they had played a couple of songs minus their leader, I decided hit the facilities before Rusty came on. As I washed my hands, I heard someone behind me say, “Hello, Rusty.” Turned around, and sure enough, there he was, black hat and all. (No, this wasn’t a “You’re John Wayne” moment; old joke).

I rejoined my colleagues at the table to hear the crowd begin to yell for Rusty. “Don’t worry, he’ll be out in a minute,” one of the guys in the band said.

“Yeah, because he’s in the bathroom,” I told my friends.

 At Gruene Hall a decade or so ago, the group I was with had just eaten at the Grist Mill. Walking the stone path that runs beside the dancehall to the restaurant, I heard Wier playing the folksy “Blue Haze” solo on acoustic guitar through the chicken wire. My fellow diners walked on, but I had to stop and watch him for a minute. If memory serves me  and at my age, it often doesn’t  that was the last time I saw him. Pretty good final image.